


Tongue breaks

by PleasingNight



Category: Rusalochka | The Little Mermaid (1976), The Little Mermaid - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 02:34:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16359038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PleasingNight/pseuds/PleasingNight
Summary: Meeting the Little Mermaid may have left the Prince indifferent, but it has certainly stirred the Princess.So there is that Soviet 1976 film The Little Mermaid (Русалочка), where many details are different from those in Andersen's fairy tale (in particular, the Little Mermaid retains her voice). And it’s gay and has cool characterization, so I watched it and couldn't not write this. The chronology is changed compared to the film, so the Little Mermaid's first appearance and the tournament are separated by some time, certainly more than one day.The title is from Anne Carson's translation of Sappho 31.





	Tongue breaks

I lay awake, trying to put my thoughts together. It is no easy task: they are running in frantic circles, and the cause of the chaos is painfully obvious. Just one girl, who won’t even tell me her name.

Today we were at the sea shore, alone with the Little Mermaid - sounds rather fitting, does not it? This nickname has stuck, and my mystery guest does not seem to mind. I think it is just what she wanted, otherwise she would not introduce herself this way.

I sent my maids away, because I wanted both of us to speak freely. I have almost forgotten how it feels to be so intrigued by someone, but this girl's presence made me remember that there is no other passion as strong and relentless as curiosity. I would do anything, if only it persuaded my guest to trust me with her secrets. Still, I will not press her: I know I would get nothing by force. Not from her.

However, as much as I was hoping for sincerity, could I really expect it? Not if she knew I could not return it! It hurts to admit - everything hurts so much lately - but I do not deserve her trust.

To put it bluntly, I have spent my life lying. It is my most important talent. Have you ever seen people dancing in the mirror ballroom? Reflections in the walls create the illusion of infinite space, but from my point of view, those people are trapped. I am the mirror. I've learned to predict quite accurately what a person expects to hear, what they desire, what they are afraid of - and design the fitting version of the world, just for them. They can hardly escape a prison cell which is built of their own assumptions. If I did not rule this land by birthright, I would try to achieve the same by being its smartest liar.

I have lived like this for many years. What could the Little Mermaid’s appearance possibly change in me? What makes her special?

Several things, in fact. First, I cannot read her. I have no idea what she wants or expects to hear. I have never met anyone that inscrutable. Second, I don’t know the extent to which she can read me. She has unusual eyes. As unbelievable as it sounds, sometimes I think she sees right through me. And would it be the only unbelievable thing about her? Third… besides all this, I just don’t want to lie to her. I don't want to lose her.

 _I don’t want to lie_ , I thought - and realized that I don’t know any other way. If I excluded everything that is false - what would be left of me? Perhaps I would have dared to show her the real me - but did such thing exist? Had it ever existed? I could see nothing. When we were left alone, and I had no other people to mirror, it rendered me speechless. What to say - to her? I just watched the wind playing with her soft shiny hair.

Then she took my hands and smiled, and I stopped contemplating: I was burning to confess I knew not what. That I am not what I am, that I don’t want a prince, that I want to know her, that I don’t want her to dislike me even though I’m a bad person? Words came out disjointed, awkward, awfully imprecise, as if I was learning to speak anew. But she held my hands the whole time, so I did not want to stop.

Instead of an answer, she picked up a seashell and gave it to me. I pressed it to my ear and listened to the deep sound of the sea. The waves and currents did not seem to care about my mistakes. It was calming.

“I wonder what it would be like, to live in the sea.”

To this, I get an answer. “It’s very nice. Maybe you should try.”

The Mermaid. What did I expect.

 

* * *

You might think it was her naiveté that allowed me to feel safe with her. You don't understand. I think she is the most dangerous person at my court.

When we first met, she shocked me. "I am a mermaid" was the first thing she said, completely seriously. What kind of person says that? As absurd as the introduction was, I did not think her a fool for a second - not since I met her eyes; nor an attention seeker - god, I would know one. That sounded neither like a lie nor like a joke, but like a stormy, dangerous, stirring metaphor, so bold that I had to pause to comprehend it. "Can you sink this ship?", I wanted to ask, meaning my kingdom. I looked at her again - and felt a change, as if my vision was finally adjusting so that I could really see her. I could smell the storm in the air, and the sea in her eyes seemed to answer my unspoken question.

The moment passed. My heart was still beating too loudly. The sea-like eyes were still before me, completely unreadable. I could not tell who she was, therefore she was out of my control. Inaccessible. Unable to build a metaphorical cell of lies, I did not know any better than to throw her to prison literally. How inept. How unlike me!

I realized my mistake very soon. Think what you will of me, but I do not seek to destroy what I don't understand. I just want to be in control, and for this, I must be smart. I must learn.

I tried to study her, then. Yet she remained as much of a mystery as when she first appeared. I watched her reactions - but could not make them into a picture. Nothing betrayed her past or her passions. Her eyes seemed to absorb all things equally raptly, as if she never saw any of them before, and nothing I said, no matter subject or provocativeness, would get her talking. Being lied to is like dancing in the mirror ballroom, I said - and she broke even this simile with her dance. She ignored every expectation I could have of her and weaved her own pattern, unlike anything I've ever seen. I feel that her dance itself was a complex metaphor, that perhaps she already told me everything I wanted to know - but in a language I could barely comprehend. Was it some kind of prophecy, and will I not understand it until it is too late? The possibility is tantalizing.

And to think I promised not to ask her questions about her past! What has she been through? What has she learned? What is the quality that she possesses and I don't, that gives her such freedom and grace? Do we have anything in common or do I just like to imagine it?

I lay awake, watching her dance in my memories, and feeling the longing of an empty mirror. My last thought before finally falling asleep is that anything would be bearable, if she just held my hands again.


End file.
